


touch (verb): to handle in order to interfere with, alter, or otherwise affect.

by milfjuno



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Anal, Edging, Finger Fucking, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, PWP, Praise Talk, Some D/s elements, Trans Peter Nureyev, but also some really tender soft bits because im incapable of writing sex without romance, juno steel being extremely vocal, nureyev being the Biggest tease, oh man how to tag this lets see, possessive nureyev, slight stripping, then in order, yeah thats about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21778834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milfjuno/pseuds/milfjuno
Summary: I can see that Juno has stopped in front of me. He scoffs, “You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?”The corner of my mouth quirks into a smile. I look up at him, “There’s just no hiding anything from you anymore, is there? Fine, I’ll admit it: it sounds so pretty coming from your mouth.”“You couldn’t stop looking at me,” the words fall out of him like he’s been thinking them on repeat all night. “You were staring at me like you wanted to eat me alive, Nureyev, all night. You made Black uncomfortable and they literally own a brothel.”I stand up, sliding my hands into the pockets of my high-waisted pants, “You looked very good tonight.”“You’re doing it again.”“What?”“The… eating me alive thing.”--5200-odd words of Juno and Peter being in love. And also having sex. Like a lot of them having sex. [Griffin McElroy voice] the snippet is not a vore thing!! Shut the FUCK UP. Alternate title: Juno Steel and the Case Of How Jet Sequilak Stopped Being Able To Look Him In the Eye.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 312





	touch (verb): to handle in order to interfere with, alter, or otherwise affect.

**Author's Note:**

> my writing process for nsfw work is like the salt and pepper diner story except its a lot of janelle monae's pynk followed by one play of glass animals' take a slice and then back to janelle monae.
> 
> peter is trans in this fic! he uses male-coded language for his genitalia. he also fingers himself, so if you're made uncomfortable/dysphoric by that, i love you and you're valid! but maybe find something else to bust one to.

“Okay. We need to talk.”

“Hm?” I don’t bother looking up. I finish removing my heels and place them neatly at the end of the bed as Juno walks over to me.

“What the hell was that? On the heist today?”

“I’m not sure how many times I have to repeat myself, but I can’t read your mind, dear. That was your unique talent, if you’ll recall. You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

I can see that Juno has stopped in front of me. He scoffs, “You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?”

The corner of my mouth quirks into a smile. I look up at him, “There’s just no hiding anything from you anymore, is there? Fine, I’ll admit it: it sounds so pretty coming from your mouth.”

“You couldn’t stop looking at me,” the words fall out of him like he’s been thinking them on repeat all night. “You were staring at me like you wanted to eat me alive, Nureyev, all _night_. You made Black uncomfortable and they literally own a brothel.”

I stand up, sliding my hands into the pockets of my high-waisted pants, “You looked very good tonight.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“The… eating me alive thing.”

I spare him a quick grin, and then I lean forward to mutter into his ear, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to get my hands on you—”

“I’m pretty sure I do. And so did literally everybody else in the room—”

“—When we had that thirty minutes to wait in the lobby I almost dragged you outside and had you against the wall,” I continue.

Juno’s eyebrows perk, “You should’ve."

I tsk my tongue, “Shameless, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

He kisses me. My hands are still in my pockets and it takes me a moment to shuffle them out but then I grab onto his hips through his dress and pull him into me. He makes a little breathy sound and his hands curl into my hair. I want to make him desperate.

I push my tongue through his teeth into his mouth, kissing him like I’ve wanted to all night, and Juno moans. We’re already touching all over, but the hands on the small of my back try to pull me closer into him as he grinds his hips into me.

“Fuck. Nureyev,” he breathes when we part for air. I watch his eye try and fail to focus on mine and then he kisses me again. He tries to push me back on the bed but I hold strong against him.

He breaks away from me, making a sound that is probably supposed to be a concerned question and comes out more like an impatient grunt. I lean in to him, kissing up his jaw to his ear.

“Juno,” I murmur, my voice as low and serious as I can make it, “I want you to do something for me.”

He shivers – there mere suggestion of being ordered is like ice water down his spine and I know it. “What?” he grumbles, trying to sound frustrated and miserably failing.

“Lie down on the bed.”

His eye stays on me when he steps back from me, watching me warily as he steps around behind me. I hear him get on the blankets and without turning, I speak.

“And take that dress off before you do. I’d tell you to take your underwear off as well if you were wearing any.”

The bed creaks as he stands back up, “How did you—”

“You’re awfully predictable, my dear.”

He grumbles something that I assume is some form of half-built insult, and I hear the dress fall to the floor behind me. Then the bed covers rustle again. “Happy now?”

“For now,” I smile, and turn to look at him. I do actually have to breathe in when I see him: one leg up, resting on his elbows and staring at me like I’m the only thing in the universe that matters in this moment. There’s a possessive side of me that is very, very in favour of Juno Steel looking at me that way.

But I can’t let him know that. His eyes stay on me as I walk around the side of the bed and then climb over him, putting one knee on either side of him.

“What are you gonna do, fuck me through your clothes?” Juno asks. His hands run up my thighs and I stop them, grab his wrists, and lean up to pin them either side of his head.

Juno’s breath hitches. He’s so easily toyed with, and I’m in the mood to play for hours.

“Juno,” I tell him. “You are not going to touch me until I tell you to do so.”

“Nureyev, I am _really_ past being teased tonight—”

“Oh?” I cut him off, “So you’re happy to have me ache for you all day, to want nothing more but to touch you and yet to be denied, and you expect to be able to touch me the moment you so desire?” I tsk my tongue again, “Don’t be so selfish.”

“So, what? I’m just meant to lie here and look pretty?”

“Don’t get tetchy, now. You’re into this and we both know it.”

He glares at me for a moment, and then turns his head into the pillow and rolls his eye, “I regret doing that red/yellow/green checklist with you, now.”

My grin is delighted, “On the contrary, my dear, I’ve found it quite useful. Put your knees up.” He does and I lean back on his thighs, “Wonderful. Now remember what I told you: keep those lovely hands to yourself.”

I start with my choker, allowing my fingers to brush over my neck as I unclasp it. His eye follows me, his head turning back so he can look at me better. I reach over and place it on the bedside table, and then begin to unbutton my shirt.

“You’re gorgeous, Nureyev, fuck,” Juno breathes. If he keeps saying things like that I am in serious danger of giving this whole endeavour up and kissing him gently for the next half an hour.

“Don’t get sappy on me, Juno, it’s so unbecoming,” I drawl.

“Fine,” he growls, “I want to break this bed tonight. How’s that for not sappy?”

“Not bad, but a little on the uncouth side. It’s a thin line. I’d probably opt for something like this myself,” I undo a button on my shirt. “I want to watch you fall to pieces and writhe underneath me,” Another button, “I want to make you want me so badly you’ll never want anybody else, never be able to _think_ about anybody else, I want you to be ruined,” another button, the second last. Juno’s chest is rising and falling, his lips just slightly parted, “I want to take you apart until I have you begging for me or crying, whatever comes first.”

I shrug my shirt off of my shoulders, adding a little more theatricality than is strictly necessary to peel it off my arms and throw it across the room. Juno groans in impatience and tries to rut his hips up against me. I sit up on my knees so that he can’t touch me,

“Ah, ah, ah. What did I say?”

Juno groans again, “Want you,” he mutters, and I hum.

“Yes, I know,” I assure him. “Be good and maybe I’ll let you have me.”

He sighs and stills on the bed. I undo the buckle of my belt and let it slide individually out of the loop holes. With a flick of my wrist the end of it slaps violently down onto the blankets beside Juno. He flinches. I smile and drop the belt, leaning up off of his thighs to undo the button of my pants. I slide them down over my hips and watch Juno’s fingers twitch.

“Those are new,” he says.

“I thought you might like them,” the straps of my briefs are high on my hips and very, very thin, with not much save for some scant red lace attached to them. “I have you to thank, my dear. I’d never had much of an eye for lingerie until you started wearing it.”

“Glad I could help out,” Juno mutters, “You gonna get the rest of those pants off, or..?”

“Patience, Juno,” I remind him, but I shuffle my pants down as far as I can – and then a problem arises. It seems I haven’t quite prepared for the reality of actually getting my pants _off._

Juno raises an eyebrow at me.

“Shut up,” I tell him, and get off of him to kick my pants off at the edge of the bed.

“Very graceful,” Juno tells me as I get back onto him. “Don’t fall off the bed.”

I shut him up by pressing him down and kissing him sweetly until I laugh into his mouth and then pull back, glaring at him, “You’re not meant to make me laugh. You’re going to pay for that.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Juno protests.

I don’t respond to him, instead opting to lean back and breathe deeply, reinstating the character I had been playing before, someone quite a deal more smooth than the real Peter Nureyev. I slide a hand between my legs and shiver all over as the lace presses against my dick. Between fluttering eyelashes I see Juno’s attention fix to my hand, his lips parting slightly.

“You can’t imagine how unbearable it was,” I tell him, letting two of my fingers slide deeper along the lace of my underwear and tease myself, before returning to my cock, “Watching you flirt with Black, watch you push your dress a little further up your thigh, and pretend like I had no idea what was going on.”

“I think I have a faint idea,” Juno mutters and I tsk my tongue.

“Oh, but I’m afraid you don’t, my dear,” and I brush the lacey bottom of my underwear aside to push a finger inside of myself.

“Fuck,” Juno breathes, and I glance down to see his cock twitch against his stomach.

‘Does this turn you on?” I ask him, sliding that one finger deeper inside of myself. It’s not enough to really get me off, but if he knows that he shows no sign of it, “Watching me get myself off, thinking of you?”

I push a second finger inside of myself, rolling my head back as I let my fingers slide all the way to the knuckle, and then I look back down at him.

Juno makes this tiny little choked sound. His hands flex on the bed beside him, fingers digging into the sheets. But he doesn’t reach for me. I can’t help it: my grin is sharp and satisfied.

“Obedient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Let me touch you,” it comes out of him hoarse, like it has wrestled in his throat for a long time and been bitten back almost to shreds. It makes me shiver. I roll my hips slowly on my fingers.

“No, thank you, Juno, I’m quite capable of touching myself.”

“You’re the fucking worst.”

I laugh – the old Juno Steel bitterness shatters the fantasy a little bit, but regardless it warms my heart for a moment. Then I distract myself thoroughly, scissoring my fingers inside myself. The sounds that I make are genuine; I fight the urge to move my hips just to chase the warm sensation of fucking myself on my fingers. It’s been a while since I did this, and it is nice. I remove my fingers for just a moment to pull my underwear down slightly, letting him see my fingers circle around my cock before I push them back inside.

Juno makes a sound – a really, almost pathetic kind of whine, and my focus is brought back on to him. I watch the Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His eyes are intense and I’m not sure if I want more to let him take out all that frustration on me or to fuck it out of him myself.

“Nureyev,” he tries, and although I delight in the way he grates my name out like a warning, I grin down at him. He’s not getting me that easily.

“You know, Juno,” I tell him, and then curl my fingers inside of myself just to cut myself off, shuddering as my fingertips brush against a place that has my thighs go weak for a moment. When I’ve got my breath back, I tell him, “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve done this, thinking of you.”

His eye had been following the movement of my hand. Now it flickers up to mine, wide. His lips part for a moment, and his chest swells as he breathes hard, “You… did?”

I put my other hand on his shoulder and push him further back into the mattress, leaning over him despite the burn in my thighs that starts up almost immediately, “I tried not to,” I tell him. “Didn’t feel quite right of me, at first. But I hope you’ll forgive me with becoming frustrated with constantly having to push the image out of my mind. It was hard to forget the way you looked that night. The way you gasped all those pretty words as you came—do you remember that, Juno?”

His lip trembles just a little bit and his eye closes, “Vaguely,” he says, with a mischievous half-smile. Then his eye opens, “I thought of you, too,” he admits.

“Mm?” I lean down to catch his lip in my teeth. It’s not quite the right angle for me to continue my ministrations and I don’t want to lose balance, so I take my fingers out of myself and put my other hand down beside him, wiping my fingers on the sheets. “What did you think about?” I murmur.

“Somethin’ like this,” Juno says, “Somethin—Nureyev, _Nureyev, please_ , _”_ he gasps as I lower my body, brushing my stomach against his cock. Then I lift myself up from him again. His hips buck upwards but I push them back down.

“Don’t let me interrupt you, Juno. You were saying?”

“Something—” Juno manages, through gritted teeth, “That involved a lot more fucking me senseless and a lot less teasing me senseless by this point.”

I laugh, “My apologies, Juno, you just look so lovely strung out like this.”

“I’d look lovelier with you inside of me,” Juno promises, and the debate that had been waging in my head – one of whether I’d rather fuck all the frustration I’ve built up in him away or ride him until he can barely take it anymore – is resolved suddenly.

“I’m sure you would,” I tell him, and lean down to kiss him. My hands curl in his hair and I kiss him until he is whining into my mouth and I can feel his hips hitching like he’s fighting to keep them down. I let my mouth trail onto his neck and listen to the noises he makes when I leave bruises down his skin.

“Nureyev,” he breathes, his head pushing back on the pillow, “ _Please_ , fuck, I swear to God, I— _fuck_ ,” he spits as I grind against him suddenly. The friction burns in the best possible way into my body, and I suddenly ache for the missing fullness of my fingers.

I distract myself by kissing Juno and muttering, “You can touch me, now.”

His hands surge up immediately, squeezing at my ribs and curling into my hair to pull me closer to him. He grinds his hips up hard against me, sliding against where I’m wet and dripping against him. For a long moment, I’m breathless. When I do catch my breath, eventually, I waste it all in a groan I let out into his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Juno breathes in agreement. He whines when I start to move my hips in time with his, dragging myself against the length of his cock, tipping his head back to make noises that make my body run hot with arousal. Past a certain point, Juno becomes incapable to form most words, is reduced to moaning and gasping and panting things like _yes, yes, yes_ over and over. He’s always been loud. It’s a trait of his I find very agreeable.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask him. It’s a simple question, really, one that requires an equally simple answer, but Juno groans like I’ve asked him something he wants more than anything else in the world.

“Yeah—yes, please,” he whines out. I’ve always found it amusing that Juno seems to find his manners in moments like this.

I roll off of Juno so that I can get my strap-on and some lube.

The sound he makes when I leave him on the bed is beautiful.

“You’re going to have Jet complaining about the noise again,” I warn him.

“If you were actually worried about that, Nureyev, you wouldn’t do stuff like this all the goddamn time. And plus, I know you’re into that. I saw your red/yellow/green checklist, too, you know, so don’t act all high-and-mighty.”

The corner of my mouth pulls into an amused smile, “No need to get personal, dear.”

“If you’re not back on this bed in—goddamnit, Nureyev, I _know_ you know exactly where your stupid fucking stupid strap-on is,” he says as I make a show out of opening a few random drawers and closing them again.

“Ah. You’re right, here it is,” I take it out, along with a small bottle of lube, and settle myself back on the bed. His legs are already open for me, but I run my hands over his thighs anyway.

There’s a lot to be said for touch. There are places I like to touch Juno quite a lot, naturally, the places that make him gasp and his hips jolt, but there is something I like so much about touching him for the sake of it. Not to make him moan or tremble, but just to feel him. The warmth of his skin, the places it’s rough, the tangle of his leg hair.

Juno and I are alike with our relationships to touch. So used to it being a violent thing; so used to being betrayed by those who offer us physical affection.

It’s nice to rebuild it. To erase the previous associations and write over them with new ones: vulnerability, but in a comfortable sense, not an exposing one. Trust, comfort, affection. Some days are worse than others – there are times when neither of us can stand to touch each other at all, but we have learnt ways to express our affection around those times, work with hand signals instead of hand-holding, codewords instead of body language, giving warnings before touching each other from behind. Even so, I would have never in a million years expected myself to form such a positive reaction to – a craving for, even – the simple action of being touched. It is perhaps my favourite thing to come out of exploring this new corner of my life, of myself.

Juno’s hand cups my face, and my whole body trembles. I turn into it, kissing his palm. His thumb brushes along my cheekbone. “Alright?” he asks.

I lean up to push him back into the pillows and kiss him so hard I can almost feel my heart draining into his. It’s so romantic, my chest aches.

When I break for him, Juno sighs, cupping my face with his hands, “Don’t get sappy on me, Nureyev, you got me in the mood to have my brains fucked out of me.”

“Ugh. Crass as ever, I see. Your turn of phrase never ceases to impress me.”

Juno’s eyebrows raise, “What am I, too unladylike for you?”

“No,” I smile against the corner of his mouth, and press a quick kiss there, “You’re perfect. You always are.”

Before he can respond, I lean back off of him and curl my fingers around his cock, tugging sharply.

Juno cries out, and his voice breaks. I feel my body throb in response to it.

“Now, where were we?” I mutter, as Juno babbles something about giving a lady half a warning, and pick up the bottle of lube. “Ah, yes.”

All the embarrassingly tender introspection of earlier aside, there is, of course, nothing like touching Juno for the sake of sex.

I give him one finger and he growls in frustration, his hips hitching against me, “Are you serious? I’m not going to fucking break, Nureyev, I’ve taken four fingers _dry_ before—”

“So you’ve told me before, and honestly, Juno, the idea of that alone still makes me wince. I’m only being careful.”

“You’re only being a piece of shit.”

“Charming,” I tell him, and give him a second finger.

Juno goes very quiet very fast after that, breathing hard. He writhes slightly against the sheets as I thrust my fingers into him a little faster, making a quiet little sound that I feel in my whole body. I find the shape of his prostate and Juno becomes less quiet.

“Yes—yeah, yeah, fuck,” he groans, his back arching, “More, fuck, please.”

“Oh, Juno,” I breathe, reaching up to set my teeth against the junction of his neck and shoulder, “You desperate little thing, you’re so beautiful. I’m barely even touching you, you know.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Juno breathes out in one word.

I crook my fingers up against his prostate and rub circles against it. Juno’s head goes back against the pillow with a deep, throaty moan.

“How’s that?” I ask him lightly, biting into his skin.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Juno’s voice cracks on the word. I grin and lean back so that I can watch him.

He is beautiful. He always has been – I’ll never forget the way my stomach plunged when I first saw his stubble, the way I’d imagined it scratching against my neck before I’d dismissed the thought as a side-effect from letting Rex Glass have too much leeway with the sex appeal. Now he’s here – flushed down to his chest, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. I may not verbalise it as much, but the _wanting_ he moans about is in no way not mirrored when I look at him like this.

I watch him when I add a third finger, watch the way his hands lift, one of them tangling into his curls, the other brushing over his own throat, to press lightly or just to feel the way his throat moves when he moans.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him quite this ruined. I want to know how far I can take it.

“Fuck,” he gasps when I fuck him harder on my fingers, “Nurey— _fuck_ , yes, yes, oh-my-God, I’m—you’re gonna make me—” he warns, and can’t get the rest of it out. His back arches and his cock twitches on his stomach, pre-cum shining against his skin. He’s almost there, I can tell by the strained, high pitch to the noises he makes, the knit of his eyebrows, the way his eye shuts.

“I’m—” he tries to say again, and his breath catches in his throat, and he’s right there and I know it.

He shouts when I pull my fingers out from him, his hips twitching uselessly in search for the little contact he needs to send him over. The shout catches and morphs in his throat, leaving him as a sob, ragged and pained.

“ _Fuck_ ,” and this is not a pleasured sound, he makes. His body shakes and he gasps for air. “I was so close, so close, _fuck_.”

The way he says it has me wanting to lean over him and pepper him with kisses, asking him if I’ve taken it too far, if he’s alright, if he wants to stop. But there’s an electric tension in the air and I don’t want to spoil it, and God knows he complains about my tendency towards being overprotective, so I trust him to let me know if he needs anything from me.

“I believe I told you, my dear, that I’d have you begging for me or crying before the end of the night,” I brush my hand over the side of his face, letting my thumb wipe away the wetness at the corner of his eye, “And I don’t go back on my word.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Juno breathes, “That’s it. This is the end of me. You’ve had enough, and you’re going to kill me. Death by sexual frustration.”

He makes me laugh, even like this, even when I’m so aroused that I ache between my legs, “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Just, please,” he says back, “Get inside of me before I pass off this mortal fucking coil.”

“Alright,” I soothe him, “Be patient.”

“ _Patient?_ Nureyev, if you had any idea how _patient_ —”

I let him keep venting at me while I find where my strap-on has been cast aside on the blankets. I ease one end of it into me. It’s wide at the top, but I have no problem in taking it; at this point both of my thighs are slick with how wet I am, and the size of it is welcome and satisfying in the very best way.

I can’t help but moan softly. Juno’s voice goes suddenly silent, he shifts to look at me.

“Fuck,” he says, and leans his head back, “I think I almost just came just looking at you.”

I laugh again, “That would be rather strange. But flattering, I suppose. Are you ready?”

“If I was any more ready I wouldn’t last two minutes,” Juno growls, “As it is I’m going to be pushing to make it to five.”

“That’s quite alright, the feeling’s mutual,” when I line myself up to him, he makes this tiny little gasping sound.

I brace myself with one hand against the head of the bed, and slide forward. It’s always this – the act of connecting our bodies until our hips are flush against each other – that strikes me as strangely romantic, in its own kind of way. The act of sharing something as personal as pleasure with each other; it is the most intimate, most vulnerable form of touch. From what I gather of Juno’s history, he’s never held the act of sex with the same kind of reverence – he’d probably tell me I think too much if I ever told him what it means to me.

It’s alright. I love him for the differences in the way we think. Whether or not he considers the significance of this trust, I never forget how lucky I am that it’s mine. I lean down and kiss a wordless promise into him that I’ll never betray it.

“Alright?” I ask him, softly, and he must hear the gentleness in my voice, because he doesn’t even snap back at me.

“Alright,” he affirms. Then, because he’s Juno Steel, he shifts his hips and adds, “You gonna fuck me any time soon?”

So I roll my eyes at him, and then I do.

It takes no time at all, really, until there’s nothing much left in my mind of romance and thoughts of what means what to whom. There’s something to be said for Juno’s preferred method of fucking and its ability to bring the whole universe down to two people, to the sound of skin and the headboard knocking against the wall and _Juno_ himself—

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, his whole body arching up against me, “Yes,” he whines, “Yeah, Nureyev, harder, _please.”_

“Listen to you,” I breathe. The strap-on has a burn blazing in my gut and my thighs, “So gorgeous, Juno.”

“ _Harder_.”

I do as I’m told.

“ _Yes_ ,” Juno groans, “Like that. Just like—Nureyev, oh, fuck,” he says, his voice suddenly low and every word drawn out, “Don’t st-op, don’t stop.”

Somewhere in me builds a retort about stopping being quite literally the last thing on my mind in this moment _,_ but it’s shaken out of me by the steady grow of a pull in the back of my stomach. I want to chase it, want to let it consume me, so I fuck myself into him harder, until my body is shaking with the effort.

“ _Uh,_ ” Juno’s back arches again, his head falling back against the pillow. Words have left him; he makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before, a short cry, and comes hard against his stomach and mine.

And that’s really all it takes. It’s a different kind of orgasm to usual; it takes a moment to build in my stomach, leaving me gasping into Juno’s shoulder, before it rolls through my entire body. It’s slow and powerful, burning me alive. “Juno,” I hear myself pant, and then, because as much as I hold a general distaste for uncouth language, sometimes there’s nothing else, “Oh, _fuck_.”

I’m left hot and throbbing and satisfied. Juno still trembles faintly underneath me. He shifts on the bed and another soft whine leaves him.

I have enough energy to roll off of him and collapse on the bed beside him. That’s about it.

“Jet is gonna fucking kill us,” Juno groans.

I laugh. “We might have overdone it a little,” I agree.

“Not my fault,” Juno rolls over to face me, and I don’t even have it in me to complain at him for the state of the sheets, “Nureyev… holy shit.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” and then some of the fog leaves from my mind and I look over at him, raising my hand to cup the side of my face, “Was it too much? I was honestly worried about you when I made you cry, you know, I wasn’t sure—”

Juno silences me with a kiss. Then he leans his forehead against my shoulder, “No fucking way. You raised the bar for every time we have sex from now on, you realise that? That was easily in the top ten orgasms of my life.”

Despite the fact that I’d hardly expected how tonight would pan out, I feel a stab of wounded pride, “Top ten?”

“Eh. Don’t worry, you’ve caused at least two of them.”

“Incredible. You always know just what to say to make me feel better.”

I feel Juno’s teeth against my shoulder as he grins, and then he sighs softly and collapses against me, “I think I’m gonna sleep for the next twelve hours.”

I have enough energy to reach down with one of my hands and pull my strap-on out of me. I throw it across the room. “We should shower, first. I don’t think I’ve ever sweated more.”

“Mm,” Juno agrees, “We should.”

Neither of us moves.

“New plan,” Juno says after a while, “We worry about that in the morning.”

“You know, Juno,” I say through a yawn, winding my arms around him, “I like the way you think.”


End file.
